DebtFree
by Alice Philemon
Summary: Harry saved Ginny's life at the end of her first year... now, she repays her wizard's debt. Written pre-OoTP, so it's AU now. Rated PG-13 for suicidal themes.


Debt-free  
  
By Alice Philemon  
  
Harry had changed, Ginny could tell that much. The "good, great Harry Potter" she had always been so sure she was in love with had become a tormented, melancholy soul. Ever since his arrival at the Burrow almost two weeks ago, he hadn't said a word.  
  
Ginny knew that he was still mourning the death of Cedric Diggory, and that he felt so positive that it was his own fault that Cedric had died. Moreover, she knew he was certain that everyone else blamed him, as well.  
  
Ginny knew exactly how he felt. During the summer after her first year, she spent countless hours agonizing over the Petrifications of her fellow students, knowing that she was the one who had turned them to stone and knowing that at least some of the students still blamed her. She went over these facts again and again in her head, until she realized one key thing: It hadn't really been her. Tom Riddle had been controlling her, and he was the one to blame for all those horrid things.  
  
However, Ginny was worried about Harry. She wasn't entirely certain that he would come to a similar realization; that You-Know-Who was responsible for Cedric's death and that Harry had done a phenomenally brave thing in dueling You-Know-Who and bringing Cedric's body back to Hogwarts. After he returned, Ginny noticed that he was plagued by self-doubt, and soon understood that it had always been so.  
  
Overhearing (well, eavesdropping on, really) Ron and Hermione's conversations, she learned that Harry had serious doubts in everything from his adequacy in classes to his ability to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Ginny had always felt relatively comfortable in her own skin, but it was obvious that Harry had never enjoyed such a privilege. After thinking on it for a bit, she understood why. The Muggles he lived with didn't seem like the kind, supportive type, and everyone in the wizarding world (including herself, she was ashamed to note) expected him to be some kind of superhero.  
  
Ginny supposed that it was a strong possibility that Harry would always believe that Cedric's death was his fault, and would never forgive himself for that gruesome incident.  
  
As she thought about all this, Ginny never forgot that Harry had saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets, and for that she owed him a wizard's debt. Her greatest fear was that someday, she would have to repay it.  
  
She didn't know how soon that day would come.  
  
---  
  
Harry lay down on the bed in Bill's old room on the third floor, where he would be staying for the rest of the summer, and looked out the large, grimy window. 'Cedric's dead. Cedric's dead and Voldemort is gaining power. And it's all my fault.' Suddenly, jumping out of the window didn't seem like a bad option.  
  
'Stop it, Harry,' he told himself. 'Just because you've caused the death of your crush's boyfriend and brought the most evil wizard of our time back to strength, which will, without a doubt, cause countless more deaths, possibly those of your friends and surrogate family, and all that blood will be on your hands.' No, jumping out the window didn't seem like a bad idea at all. 'After all, you'll be responsible for all those deaths... What's one more?'  
  
'Don't,' he thought to himself again. 'Don't even consider it. Think about Ron, and the Weasleys, and about Hermione. They need you to live. They're depending on you to destroy Voldemort, to save the wizarding world, to be the hero. The whole world is depending on you to be the hero. You're the Boy Who Lived.'  
  
"Yes I am," he said aloud, sarcastically. "But wouldn't it be just so deliciously ironic if I were also the Boy Who Died?"  
  
About a minute later, he realized that those were the first words he'd uttered since he had arrived at the Burrow almost two weeks before. 'I've been unspeakably rude,' he thought. 'The Weasleys have been kind enough to take me in, but I'm completely snubbing them.'  
  
Harry hauled his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Suddenly, he found that he was hungry. Mrs. Weasley had come up with a tray the night before, but he had barely touched it, and now the brown gravy was congealed and the beef smelled decidedly unappetizing. He resolved to go downstairs. Then he would apologize to the Weasleys, but not before getting something to eat.  
  
He moved sluggishly down the hall, finding he had barely enough energy to get downstairs and into the kitchen. Harry found a carrot, a bar of chocolate, and a bottle of Pepper-Up Potion by looking through the nearly bare cupboards. He set the carrot and chocolate on the table, and poured a bit of the Potion into a clean-looking mug he found next to the sink. He sat down at the table and tucked into his makeshift meal.  
  
And so Harry ate, more out of obligation to his growling stomach than because he truly felt like eating.  
  
---  
  
Ginny had heard someone ('Probably Percy,' she thought) puttering in the kitchen from her spot on the big, orange sofa in the living room, and decided that a snack wouldn't be such a bad idea. After all, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and her parents had left early that morning for an excursion to Blackpool, and wouldn't be home until late in the evening. Ginny, who had volunteered to stay behind with Harry and Percy, was feeling quite lonely. Loneliness always had made her hungry. She opened the kitchen door slowly, wincing as it creaked. Many times when she was younger, she would come downstairs for a midnight snack, and the telltale creak of the door would foil her plans...  
  
She was jolted out of her memory by the unfamiliar sound of an inexpressibly miserable Harry Potter. "I don't suppose you've come down here to stare at me and put your elbow in the butter, have you?" Harry asked rather rudely.  
  
Ginny stared at him, her face composed. 'I will not yell at him,' she thought. "You've changed, Harry," Ginny replied, her voice level. "You're not the boy I had a crush on anymore. I don't think I even like you anymore, not the way I used to."  
  
Harry looked at the remains of his carrot, shamefaced. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I haven't spoken to anyone in weeks, and the first words I say... You didn't deserve that. I apologize."  
  
Ginny smiled sadly. "That's quite all right, Harry. I know exactly what you're going through." Then she noticed his empty mug. "Shall I put on some tea?"  
  
"Yes, please," Harry responded, more out of politeness than out of a true yen for tea. "And, with all due respect, you know nothing about what I'm going through."  
  
Ginny, who had moved to the stove and put the tea on, turned around to look at Harry, and see if he was being sarcastic or not. He wasn't. 'I stayed behind for this?' She groused silently. "You haven't the memory of a gypsy moth, Harry Potter. Two years ago, I was in a position nearly identical to yours. I got out of it relatively unscathed, but I don't know if you will. I can help you, if you want me to." Ginny looked at Harry with hope hidden behind her concerned eyes.  
  
"You never killed anyone," Harry replied hotly, before rising from his chair. "You have no idea about what it's like. You know nothing about what I'm going through," he repeated. "Nothing. Never mind the tea, Ginny. All of a sudden, I'm not so terribly thirsty anymore." Harry walked slowly toward the kitchen door, every step filled with a simmering rage. He left the kitchen, and the door to the living room went swinging.  
  
Once again, Ginny couldn't help but feel that the telltale creak of the kitchen door had foiled her plans.  
  
---  
  
Harry stormed up the stairs in a fit of fury and indignation. 'How dare she?' He ranted inside his head. 'How dare she even attempt to comfort me? She doesn't know anything about what happened to me! She wasn't in that graveyard, she didn't see Voldemort, or Cedric's brutal murder, she doesn't realize that his blood is all over my hands!'  
  
He reached the door to Bill's room, opened it, walked through, and slammed it shut. 'I really shouldn't be so hard on her,' he thought. 'She's only a child, after all. She doesn't know what she's talking about. She only knows that her friend is in trouble, and like a good little girl, she tries to rush to my rescue... Cedric would have done the same for me... I should have done the same for him, but I didn't. I was too scared. I'm not brave!' He said to himself, 'I'm not brave! I should have never asked the Sorting Hat to be put in Gryffindor. I'm not brave enough. I belong in Slytherin with the cowards and evildoers.'  
  
Harry suddenly realized that he had been pacing for about ten minutes. His undernourished body strained in protest, and Harry lay down on the bed. 'I can't believe I'm doing this to myself,' he thought. 'And Ginny-I was beastly to her. I really ought to apologize.' Harry tried to get up, but his body protested. His negligence of his physical condition was catching up to him, and he felt horrible about the way he was treating everyone: himself, the Weasleys, and especially Ginny.  
  
'She's been nothing but nice to me,' Harry thought, 'and I've been a perfect beast to her. Besides, what right do I have to yell at a nice girl like Ginny, especially one who's had a crush on me for so long? Just what kind of person am I, anyway? I probably don't even deserve to live.'  
  
Harry's suicidal thoughts were interrupted by a soft rapping at the door. "Come in," he yelled hoarsely.  
  
The door creaked open, and Harry saw a pair of remorseful brown eyes peer into the room, brimming with tears. "I-I brought you some tea," Ginny stated as she came fully into the room, "and I made some scones, because I figured you'd be hungry. I do hope that's all right."  
  
Harry smiled weakly as he tried to push himself up in the bed, sitting with his back propped up by pillows. "That's fine, Ginny," he assured her. "Listen, I'm really sorry about how I acted earlier. I know you're just trying to help, and I acted ungrateful. But really, Ginny, it's nice to know that someone still cares about me, even though I. Cedric. well, you know. I'm responsible for. you know."  
  
Ginny smiled ruefully as she sat down in the chair across from Harry's bed. "That's just it, though, Harry. You're not. You're not responsible for Cedric's death, You-Know-Who is. Who killed Cedric, Harry?"  
  
"I did," Harry replied mournfully.  
  
"Did you point your wand at him and shout, 'Avada Kedavra?'" Ginny asked him rationally.  
  
"No," Harry was forced to reply, "But I as good as did. I put him in danger. I put everyone in danger, Ginny. Voldemort is on the rise, and I helped him get there." Harry moaned.  
  
"That's rubbish, Harry. You-Know-Who would have found a way to gain power, whether you were involved or not. Look at it this way, though: at least this time, we have some warning. We can take precautions this time that we couldn't before. You're a big part in the fight against You-Know-Who. Heck, you're the only reason we even have a chance! Without you, he would still be in power. You're a hero, Harry, and everything about you is fundamentally good. You can't blame yourself the actions of others, or you'll go insane. Please, Harry, we need you." Ginny sat down next to him on the bed, tears running silently down her face.  
  
Harry stood up as if he'd been slapped. "Has it ever occurred to you, Ginny, that I may not want to be a hero? My heroism hurts others! Because of me, Ron-your brother-nearly got trampled by a giant chess piece his first year. Because of me, his ra-oh no, I can't tell you about that. But the bottom line is, Cedric Diggory was killed as a result of me being alive." Harry stalked across the room and sat on the window seat looking down at the ground so far below.  
  
Ginny wanted so badly to lash out at Harry just then, to remind him that not everything happened because he was alive. However, she figured that such a statement would only push him further away. So instead, she decided to take a less hurtful approach. "But killing yourself won't bring him back," Ginny said softly, facing Harry's back but looking down. She was afraid to see his reaction, because she knew it wouldn't be a good one.  
  
They sat in silence for a long minute.  
  
Suddenly, Harry turned to Ginny, his eyes glittering wildly. "How do you know that, though?" He asked her, too calmly for his expression. "How do you know that my dying won't bring him back? You don't! Anything might bring him back! You never know!"  
  
Ginny sighed. "Harry, bringing back the dead is necromancy. It's the blackest magic and super illegal; besides, it doesn't work like that."  
  
"How do you know?" Harry shouted.  
  
"Harry, do try to calm down, please. To answer your question: How many people do you know that have come back from the dead?" Ginny looked Harry in the eye and asked this in the calmest, most rational voice she could muster, which was pretty pathetic at the time.  
  
"Pet-Voldemort," he replied, remembering for the second time that Ginny knew nothing of his third-year escapades.  
  
"He doesn't count, Harry. He was never dead in the first place," Ginny responded, picking up the tea tray, which neither of them had touched. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to put this back downstairs. The others will be home in a few hours. Oh, do you want me to take the other tray, as well?"  
  
"Go ahead," Harry replied glumly, "I'm not going to eat the rest of it."  
  
Balancing the two trays on her arm, Ginny opened the door to the hall and stepped outside. "Well, Harry, I'll be up with supper in a few hours. Please don't do anything rash. there are a lot of people who care about you," she reminded him. With one last look at Harry, she walked down the hall.  
  
---  
  
Ginny walked down the stairs carefully, balancing the two trays in her hands. The one from the night before smelled really disgusting, and Ginny wrinkled her nose. She entered the kitchen through the creaky door, then set the two trays down by the sink. She had a lot of cleaning up to do.  
  
She turned on the Wizarding Wireless at the other end of the kitchen; housework was always much more bearable when set to music. Ginny sang along halfheartedly with a few of her favorite songs, mostly the ones with skirling pipes, fun guitar riffs, and clever lyrics. She was too preoccupied with Harry's mental health to be in a full-blown sing-into-the- sopping-wet-soup-spoon mood, however.  
  
Ginny wasn't really enjoying herself, though; she was washing dishes, after all, and nothing could make that seem fun. Besides, Harry was still upstairs, unhappy and contemplating suicide.  
  
She chanced a look at the clock above the sink: it was almost four, and the rest of her family would be home in three and a half hours. Ginny wondered briefly over Percy's whereabouts, and resolved to find him after she finished the dishes.  
  
About five minutes later, Ginny put the last plate away and tromped up two flights of stairs, looking for Percy. She knocked on the door to his room, then opened it without waiting for an answer. She peered inside, amused by what she saw.  
  
Percy was dressed in his most serious suit: a dark, pinstriped, double- breasted affair with a red power tie and handkerchief in the pocket. He was packing official-looking papers into his briefcase, and, if his humming of the childhood song was any signal, he was putting them in alphabetical order, as well. He looked up at Ginny, annoyed. "What do you want?" Percy asked irritably. "I have to be at Ministry in five minutes, so it had better be important."  
  
"I don't want anything, I was just wondering where you've been all day. And why are you going to the Ministry on a Saturday, anyway, Perce?" Ginny leaned on the doorframe.  
  
"Minister Fudge has requested to see me. His office says it's important. Now if you'll excuse me, I must leave now." Percy slammed his briefcase shut, picked it up off the bed and pulled out his wand. "I'll see you later tonight, Ginny," he said, his sentence punctuated with the pop of his disapparation.  
  
Ginny sighed. Her brother was a comfortable constant: pompous and ambitious, but with a good heart underneath it all. He never did anything dangerous or heroic, as far as she knew, but he was a good person and, to her, that was everything.  
  
Suddenly, Ginny realized that there were only two weeks left until school resumed and she hadn't even started her Muggle Studies essay. She ran down a flight of stairs and down the hall into her bedroom, where she opened up the trunk that had been gathering dust at the end of her bed for two months. Ginny rummaged around through the trunk, pulling out some parchment, her Muggle Studies text, her wand (which she had mistaken for a quill, at first), a leftover sugar quill (another thing Ginny mistook for a quill), and (finally) a quill and inkwell.  
  
Ginny scratched out about eighteen inches' worth of the neat, Palmer Method handwriting her mother had taught her in about an hour, covering most of the reasons why Muggles reached the moon and wizards didn't. She was just concluding her essay when she heard a great THUNK. She immediately ran upstairs to see what was the matter, trying not to fear the worst: that Harry had succumbed to his suicidal temptations.  
  
Ginny flung open the door to Bill's room, her eyes widening in horror as she saw her worst fears realized. There was a bedsheet tied to the leg of the dresser, running out the open window. And it was taut.  
  
She ran to the window and looked down, afraid for what she might see. Ginny was able to breathe a bit as she saw that Harry was not yet dead, but his scar was frightfully inflamed and he was holding onto the sheet above where it was tied round his neck, his knuckles white from the effort. "Harry! Hold on!" Ginny cried, tears running down her cheeks as she flew down the flight of stairs to retrieve her wand from her room.  
  
Just as quickly, Ginny ran back up the stairs and looked out of the window, seeing Harry's face pale and sweaty from the strain of holding onto the sheet. 'Ministry of Magic be damned,' she thought as she called out, "Wingardium Leviosa!"  
  
Slowly and shakily, Harry started floating into the air. Ginny carefully led him up and through the window and onto the messy, unmade bed. Exhausted by that emotionally trying exercise, Harry passed out. Ginny efficiently undid the loose knot around his neck and pulled the sheet out from under him.  
  
A few minutes later, he came to: his scar not as prominent, his face not as pale. "What happened?" Harry asked. "I mean, I think I know what happened, but it all seemed so unreal, almost like a dream. I was falling, falling, falling. then I was rising again. Ginny, was that you? Did you save my life?"  
  
"Yes, Harry," Ginny replied, taking his hand. "It was I who levitated you back into Bill's room. Are you okay now?"  
  
"I think so," Harry affirmed, his voice still a bit shaky, "but I'm having a hard time believing that just happened."  
  
"I understand, Harry. It was like someone else was inside of you, wasn't it? I know just how that feels. But I'll tell you about it in the morning. Get some sleep, now," Ginny pulled a new bedsheet over him.  
  
"But wait, Ginny," Harry answered, "you saved my life. Now I owe you a wizard's debt."  
  
Ginny shook her head, eyes shining with tears. "No, Harry, that's not it at all," she replied, "I am the one who owed you a wizard's debt. But, for the first time, I'm finally debt-free."  
  
Harry drifted off, once more sleeping the heavy, dream-filled sleep of the just.  
  
---  
  
A bit later, the family (for that was how Ginny thought of them. all of them) returned from their excursion to Blackpool. They asked Ginny how her day had gone.  
  
"I did the dishes and finished my Muggle Studies essay," she responded.  
  
THE END 


End file.
